Successful Rural Plays 

A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubes. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. 

HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who docs not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. Price 25 cents. 

THE OLD NE^W HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 

England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. Price, 25 cents. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three Acts, by Fr.\nk Dumont. For five males and four 
females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adveaturer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house thr«fL»gK the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he ckJims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and Ws female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. Price, 15 cents. 

A "WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. Price 
15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



THE AMATEURS 



A Burlesque iit One Act 



By 
RAYMOND M. ROBINSON 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1914 









Copyright 1914 by The Penn Publishing Company 



The Amateurs. 

JUL 15 1914 



0)C1.D 37572 

TMP96-006688 



The Amateurs 



Nathaniel Mossborough 
Rosalind Mossborough 
Oliver Douglass . 
Henry Douglass . 
Jenkins . 



CHARACTERS 

a retired business vian 

ids daugliter 

. lier fiinice 

an old acquaintance 

. the butler 



Also in Evidence 

The Prompter 

The Orchestra Leader 

A Couple of Stage Hands 

Time of Playing: — Thirty Minutes 



Notice to Professionals 

This play is published for amateur use only. Professionals 
are forbidden to use it except by permission of the author, 
who may be addressed in care of the publishers. 



STORY OF THE PLAY 

This is an absurd little comedy that pokes fun at the 
average amateur performance. The orchestra misses its 
cue, the curtain sticks or rises too soon, the lights go wrong, 
the actors forget their lines and cues, mix up their speeches 
and commit all the other amateur sins, to the intense 
amusement of the audience. 

The play they give is a ridiculously burlesqued bit of 
melodrama. Rosalind, daughter of Nathaniel Mossborough, 
is about to marry Oliver Douglass, when his father turns up 
with an old secret and threatens Natlianiel's ruin unless 
bought off. He is touched by Rosalind's singing, discovers 
she is marrying his own son and decides not to blast their 
happiness. 

COSTUMES 

Nathaniel Mossborough. A portly old gentleman in 
cape and silk hat. His make-up is conspicuous by the 
white wig and side whiskers, and the Skye-terrier eyebrows. 

Rosalind. Street suit with furs and muff. 

Oliver. A straw hat and a slick. 

Henry Douglass. A shabbily dressed man of middle 
age. The traditional stage villain, dark complexioned, 
drooping moustache, with a soft black hat pulled well over 
his eyes. 

Jenkins. Butler's livery. 

All the make-ups should be a little overdone. 

PROPERTIES 

Newspaper, a clock that will strike, lamp, box of matches, 
box of cigarettes, pnper money, paper copy of the play, 
bouquet of artificial flowers. 

NOTE 

The idea being to burlesque an amateur performance, the 
supposed mistakes may be made as absurd as possible. 
Make them plainly and deliberately so that the audience 
will be sure to get the point of each. It will be found best, 
however, not to empliasize too much the usual amateur 
slowness of performance. 

4 



The Amateurs 



SCENE. — The library in Nathaniel Mossborough's 
house. A conventional stas[e library — well-worn stock 
scenery of the green and gold variety. Doors R. and L., 
and a wider doorway at the back, hung with portieres — 
any sufficiently inharmonious color will do. Assorted 
furniture placed about the room, including a table at the 
right, on ivhich is a reading lamp fed by a cord run- 
ning plainly visible to a floor plug somewhere off stage. 

(^Before the curtain rises a bell rings. Silence a moment, 
then it is repeated. Finally the stage manager, who 
plays Oliver Douglass, peers from behind the curtaiti 
and calls to the orchestra leader in an audible whisper.') 

Oliver. Ready for the overture. Didn't you hear the 
bell? {The orchestra finishes the overture and relapses 
into silence. Oliver's head appears again.) Give 'em 
another. We ain't quite ready. Jimmy ain't made up yet. 
(^He zaithdraivs and the orchestra starts a^ain on its over- 
ture. Before it is finished the footlights flash on and the 
curtain rises about four feet and sticks. Oliver heard off .) 
Come on, you, pull up that curtain ! 

The Voice of a Stage Hand. I can't ; it's stuck ! 

{After a few jerks the curtain rises. Jenkins is seated by 
the table smoking a cigarette and reading the paper. The 
orchestra continues its overture. Jenkins makes two or 
three ineffectual attempts to be heard, bes^ins to look wor- 
ried, tries to signal the leader, and finally looks off stage 
appealingly. Oliver appears again and catches the con- 
ductor'' s eye.') « 

5 



6 THE AMATEURS 

Oliver. Shut up ! 

( The orchestra stops suddenly, all bat the trombone, which 
continues alone for a couple of measures, until conscious 
of its prominence.) 

Jenkins. Hi wish the master wouldn't smoke these 
beastly Turkish cigarettes. They bite my tongue so that 
Hi can't 'ardly get no henjoyment hout hof them. {Reads 
the newspaper.) Hm — Hi see by the hevening paper that 
Suffragette ran the second 'eat in two ten an' a quarter 
yesterday. Now if Hi'd only laid the little wager as Hi'd 
a mind to do, why, by now Hi'd *a' been just so much the 
richer. {^Throws down the paper.) Hi was never cut 
hout for a servant. Hit mortifies me so to 'ave to take 
horders. Hi've a proud 'eart, Hi 'ave, hunder me 'umble 
liver — livery. {^He rises and goes up stage, calling off in 
an audible voice.) House lights haven't been turned off 
yet. 

Oliver {heard off). Turn out the house lights. {All 
the stage lights go out.) No, no, no ! House lights ! 
{House lights go out.) Put those stage lights on again ! 
{fl^lie house lights come on while the stage remains in dark- 
ness. Oliver starts to rush across the stage in a fury. 
When he is half-way across, the house lights go out and the 
stage lights come on. Oliver ducks back out of sight ; out- 
side.) Fool ! Go on ! 

Jenkins. Hi've a proud 'eart under me livery. {At 
back.) Hi wonder what can be keepin' the master. 'E's 
late to-night. Six o'clock a'ready. {A clock outside strikes 
eight.) Six o'clock a'ready, an' 'e ain't 'ere yet. Ah ! 
Hi must light the reading lamp. {He approaches the lamp 
and scratches a match, but the stage electrician apparently 
beats him to it, for the lamp lights itself before Jenkins has 
time to apply the match.) There, that's a bit cheerfuUer. 

{Enter Rosalind Mossborough and Oliver.) 
Oliver. But, Rosy dear. 



Rosalind. Don't call me Rosy ; I delest it ! 

Oliver. But, dearest 

Rosalind. Hush, Jenkins — (Jenkins starts as if sur- 
prised ) has papa returned from his walk yet ? 
Jenkins. Not yet, my lady. 



THE AMATEURS 7 

Rosalind. Strange ; what can be detaining him ? 
(Sniffing.^ Jenkins, have you been smoking my father's 
cigarettes again ? 

Jenkins. Why, no (^Removes ike cigarette from 

his lips and tries to blozv out the Sfiioke so that it won' t be 
seen.) No'm. 

Rosalind. Jenkins ! 

Jenkins. No, m'ln, I never 

Rosalind. That will do, Jenkins. 

Jenkins. Yes, m'm. 

Rosalind. You may go, Jenkins. 

Jenkins. Very well, m'm. 

{He starts out door l., corrects himself ajid makes for the 
opposite door.') 

Rosalind. Oh, Jenkins 

Jenkins {turning back). Yes, m'm. 

Rosalind. We dine at seven. 

Jenkins. Very well, m'm. {Going out. ^ 

Rosalind. Oh, Jenkins 

Jenkins {turning back). Yes, m'm. 

Rosalind. If any one calls, I am out. 

Jenkins. Very well, m'm. {Goitig out.) 

Rosalind. Oh, Jenkins 

Jenkins {turning back). Yes, m'm. 

Rosalind. I — er — er — that is all ; you may go. (Jen- 
kins remains motionless.) You may go. (Jenkins re- 
mains motionless.) You — you may go. 

Jenkins {in an aside). That's not my cue. 

Rosalind {becoming very Jiervotts). You — you 

Olivek {7viih significant emphasis). You may go, Jen- 
kins. (Oliver adds force to the tuords with emphatic ges- 
tures. ]e^kins retires reluctant/y.) Dearest Rosamond — 
er — Rosalind, I have seen your father. 

Rosalind {removing her hat and furs and throiving them 
on a chair). You have ? What did he say, tell me ! 

Oliver. Well, I didn't exactly ask for your hand, you 
know. 

(Oliver stands his stick in the corner ; it promptly falls to 
the floor.) 

Rosalind. You didn't? 



S THE AMATEURS 

Oliver. No, not exactly. I made him comprehend 
what I was attempting to convey to him, however. J think 
he understands our attitude toward each other. He — he 

said {He sidles toward the chair a7id sits on the hat. 

He rises quickly. ) D — n ! 

Rosalind {involuntarily.') Oh ! 

(Olive i< sits carefully on the edge of the chair.) 

Oliver. He said httle, but he was extremely agreeable 
and oh {rising), Rosalind, my own, I know he will welcome 
me as his son-in-law when he realizes that we love each 
other so dearly. 

Rosalind. I feel sure that he will ; and we will {rising) 
be happy with each other, won't we ? 

{She goes to hitti at the end of the speech.) 

Oliver. Happy as the day is long, my precious; 
happy 

Rosalind. And you will always 

Oliver. happy as two humming birds in their 

downy nest ; happy • 



Rosalind. And you will 



Oliver. happy as the moonbeams that rip — {grop- 
ing for her hands) ripple on the tiny wavelets ; happy 
as 

Rosalind. And you 



Oliver. as the violets, sleepmg in their mossy 

dells, my sweetheart. 

{An expectant pause ; then Rosalind, suddenly recognizing 
her cue, shouts.) 

Rosalind. And you will always love me, won't you? 
Oliver. Forever and ever. 

{They embrace. Enter Hon. Nathaniel Mossborough.) 

Nathaniel. Ahem ! 

{The lovers separate, after Rosalind disentangles her hair 
from Oliver's scarf-pin.) 

Rosalind. Oh, is it you, daddy? 



THE AMATEURS 9 

(Nathaniel removes his cape and hat and holds them for 
the butler to take. The butler is missing.) 

Nathaniel. I am not late for dinner. 1 hope I was 
detained. Has any one called ? 

(Nathaniel has 710 very intelligent conception of the mean- 
ing of his lines, although he tries his best to be dramatic. ) 

Rosalind. No one while I have been here, 

(Nathaniel's arm begins to tire and he turns as if expect- 
ing to find Jenkins. Not finding him he peers off stage 
anxiously. Jenkins r us lies on abruptly, seizes the cape, 
drops tlie hat, recovers it and rushes out.) 

Nathaniel, 1 expected no one. Well, Jenkins, what 
is Oh ! (Jenkins reenters hastily.) Er — well, Jen- 
kins, what is it ? 

Jenkins (speaking at the same time). Hif you please 

(Both stop abruptly ; each waits for the other to speak. 
After an awkward pause both start again.) 

Nathaniel. Well, Jenkins 

Jenkins. Hif you please (^Another abrupt stop. 

Then Jenkins tries once more.) Hif you please, sir, there's 
a man outside wants to see you. 

Nathaniel. A man to see you? Er — see me? Who 
is he ? 

Jenkins. 'E wouldn't give 'is name, sir. Said it was 
hurgent. 

Nathaniel. Hurgent? Hurgent? (He pronounces the 
word as if he thought it was the man'' s name.) Sliow him 
in. (Exit Jenkins. Nathaniel sits at the table.) Who 
can it be at this hour? 

Rosalind. I hope he won't stay. 

Nathaniel. Never fear, my child. You will excuse 
me? 

(Rosalind and Oliver go out l., closing the door after them. 
When they are gone Jenkins ushers in Henry Douglass. 
He turns to make sure tliat Jenkins has gone, then starts 
toward the door L. His foot lands on Oliver's fallen 
cane and he is sent sprciivling on all fours. II is hat 



10 



THE AMATEURS 



drops off but is quickly recovered, and jammed down Ofito 
his head. Henry />o in is to the door L.) 



Douglass. 
Nathaniel. 

Douglass. 
Nathaniel. 
Douglass. 
Mossborough. 
Nathaniel. 
Douglass. 



Who was that ? 

A friend. Why do you ask ? 
No matter; 'twas but a passing fancy. 

And now 

You do not ask me to be seated, Nat]ianiel 



You speak as though you knew me. 
As though I knew you ! Hah ! I know you. 
Aye, I know you well, Nathaniel Mossborough. 
Nathaniel. Who and what are you ? 
Douglass. You ask that, Nathaniel Mossborough ? 
Nathaniel. That voice ! 
Douglass. You recognize that voice, eh ? 

Nathaniel. No, no, it cannot be (Douglas yVr^i- 

off his liat and faces Nathaniel across the table. A lock 



of red hair has slipped from under his wig.^ 
Douglass, you ! 

Aye, Henry Douglass. 

I thought you were dead. 
I am not dead. 

Why have you come to me? 
Why? Because I am in trouble. 



Henry 



I need 



And you expect me to give you hel 
and I come to you for it. 



Douglass 

Nathaniel. 

Douglass. 

Nathaniel. 

Douglass. 
help 

Nathaniel. 

Douglass. 

Nathaniel. And you expect me to give you help? 

Douglass. Nathaniel, years ago we were near friends. 
We quarreled as friends will and parted. Each went his 
way. You have prospered. Fortune has smiled less kindly 
on me. I have passed through many adventures, faced 
many a hardship. Nathaniel, I have returned once more 
to the old home town where we were boys together. I am 
in trouble. I ask your aid. 

Nathaniel. Explain yourself, Henry Douglass. 

Douglass. I cannot explain. 

Nathaniel. You cannot? 

Douglass. I cannot explain. 

Nathaniel. You cannot ? 

Douglass. I cannot explain. 

Nathaniel. You — er — you 



THE AMATEURS II 

Douglass. I cannot ex 

The Prompter. Ask me nothing. 

Douglass {looking inquisitively off ■l.'). Huh? 

The Prompter. Ask me nothing. 

(Douglass walks across to the prompt side. The prompter 
repeats the line. Douglass returns to his position with 
a relieved air.^ 

Douglass. Oh ! Ask me nothing. I can tell )'0U 
nothing. 

Nathaniel. Then how can I help you ? 

Douglass. I must have one hundred dollars at once. 

Nathaniel. One hundred dollars ! 

Douglass. At once. 

Nathaniel. What you ask is impossible. 

Douglass. Bah ! Nothing is impossible to a man in 
your position. Yjpu must let me have it. 

Nathaniel. Must? 

Douglass. You dare not refuse. 

Nathaniel. Dare not ! Who are you that should speak 
thus to me? Listen, Henry Douglass. Years ago you left 
me in anger. You went your way, I went mine. Now 
after these years you come to me to beg tliat which you 
in your shiftnessless — shiftlessness — have failed to earn 
honestly. 

Douglass. Honestly? The word brings the scurl of 
corn — curl of scorn — to my lip. Honestly ! You speak 
that word who stole from my heart that which was dearest 
in the whole world to me — the love of a good woman. 

Nathaniel. You married anotiier. 

Douglass. Aye, but the marriage that soothed the 
wound effaced not the scar, Nathaniel Mossborough. I 
need one hundred dollars. You cannot refuse me. 

Nathaniel. I do refuse you. 

Douglass. You mean that ? 

N/\THANIEL. I do. {He rises.) 

Douglass. Wait. (Douglass leans across the table. 
Nathaniel sits down a^ain.) 1 have heard it said that 
you pride yourself on the fact that you founded your fortune 
on ten dollars. 

Nathaniel. Well ? 

Douglass. Where did you get that ten dollars? 

Nathaniel. Whe-where? 



12 THE AMATEURS 

Douglass {pointing his finger at him). Yes, Nathaniel, 
where did you get that ten dollars? 

Nathaniel. I — I earned it. 

Douglass. • You lie ! 

Nathaniel. What? 

Douglass. Listen. It is a Sunday in June. The scene is 
the little village church. The sermon is over. The ushers, 
two young men, are taking up the collection. Near the back 
of the church sits a stranger, a rich traveler, who has dropped 
into the service. As the plate reaches him he places in it a 
ten dollar bill, folded small. Only two people saw the act to 
recognize the denomination of the bill. They were the two 
ushers. When the collection was counted after the service 
the amount was announced as four dollars and thirteen 
cents. Who, then, stole the ten dollars? The only person 
who had the opportunity to — the usher who held the plate. 
Nathaniel, you were that usher I 

Nathaniel, Ah ! You rave ! 

Douglass. You stole the ten dollars ! I know, for I 
was the other usher. 

Nathaniel. You can't prove it. 

Douglass. Can't I? Wait. In the course of your 
first memorable business deal which marked the beginning 
of your fortune I — {(iramatically) I got that ten dollar bill, 

Nathaniel. You I 

Douglass. Aye. 

Nathaniel {tremulotisly). Henry, did you give it back 
to the church ? 

Douglass. I did not, I kept it for evidence. {He 
produces a ten dollar bill, which he thrusts tinder Na- 
thaniel's 7iose. Nathaniel falls back in his chair. Ins 
eyes staring, panting tragically. Douglass replaces the 
money in his pocket.) Now will you let me have the 
money? Or will you have the truth spread before the 
public ? 

Nathaniel. No I 

Douglass, Then I will cry out the story from the 
housetops. 

Nathaniel, You dare not. 

Douglass. I dare anything ! I am a desperate man. 

Nathaniel {i?t horror). A convict ? 

Douglass {aside). We ain't got to that yet. 

Nathaniel {uncertainly). A — a convict ? 



THE AMATEURS I3 

Douglass (with a desperate attempt to pick up the broken 

dialogue). 1 — 1 am a convict (He begins to back 

toward the prompter, still facing Nathaniel.) 1 am any- 
thing I dare — 1 mean 1 dare — I {Still keeping his 

eyes on the old man and talking wildly to cover his con- 
fusion Douglass backs squarely into tlie scenery with a 
crash. He frantically seizes tJie sivaying pieces to prevent 
their falling, while the arms of a stage hand reacJi out to 

jerk them back into place.') 1 — I am — I {To the 

prompter.) Give me my line. 

The Prompter. Gosh, I've lost the place ! 

Douglass {loudly). Gosh, I've lost the place No ! 

The convict {To the prompter.) What the devil 

comes next ? 

The Prompter. The police 

Douglass {suddenly). Aye, Henry Douglass, — no — aye, 
Nathaniel Mossborough, I am a convict. The police are 
even now at my heels. Give me the money 

Nathaniel. Never ! 

Douglass. You defy me ? 

Nathaniel. No ! Yes ! 

Douglass. Then by heaven 

Nathaniel {rising). Leave my house ! 

Douglass. You dare 

Nathaniel. Leave my house ! I am an old man, but 
you have stirred my anger ! 

(Nathaniel takes a step toward Douglass. They struggle 
and Douglass drops to the floor. When he rises one side 
of his moustache has falle7i off, evidently without his 
kno7v ledge.) 

Douglass. I could kill you for this ! 
Rosalind {outside). Pa-pah ! 
Douglass. Who was that ? 
Nathaniel. My daughter. 

Douglass. You have a daughter? I must not be seen 
here. Hide me. 

{He dives toward the door l. and crashes into Or.iVER as 
the latter enters follozved by Rosalind. Douglass has- 
tily turns and dashes out the opposite side.) 

Oliver. I beg your pardon. I ilionght you spoke. 



H 



THE AMATEURS 



Nathaniel. No, I — I was talking to Jenkins. 

Oliver. But Jenkins has gone out to mail a letter for 
me. 

Nathaniel. Yes, I sent him. 

Rosalind. Has your company gone ? 

Nathaniel. Yes, quite gone, my dear, quite gone. 
But you must excuse me a moment longer. 1 

Rosalind. But, papa 

Nathaniel. Just a moment. {He succeeds in steering 
Rosalind aiid Oliver out of the roo7n, tlien crosses to the 
opposite door where Douglass went out.) Come in, Henry 
Douglass. 

(Douglass enters by the door at the back, while Nathaniel 
stands as if expecting him to enter R.) 

Douglass. Hum ! 

(Nathaniel, startled, turns to find Douglass at his 
elbow.) 

Nathaniel. Come in, Henry Douglass. 

Douglass. That young man, who was he ? 

Nathaniel. A friend of my daughter's. 

Douglass. His name ? 

Nathaniel. By a strange coincidence the same as yours, 
Douglass. 

Douglass. Is't possible ! A friend of your daughter's? 
No more than a friend ? 

Nathaniel. I might say my daughter's affiansayed. 

Douglass. Nathaniel, is not your pride sorely tried to 
see your daughter afifiansayed to such a man ? 

Nathaniel. Such a man ? 

Douglass. To the son of such a man ? A son of a 

Nathaniel. What do you mean, Henry Douglass? 

Douglass. A son of a 

Nathaniel. You know not whereof you speak. The 
lad's father is dead these many years. 

Douglass. Dead ? Hah ! So I am dead, am I ? 

Nathaniel. You ! 

Douglass. • Aye — I. Oliver Douglass is my son. 

Nathaniel. Your son ? 

Douglass. How proud ynn will be to have the world 
know that your daughter married the son of a convict. 



THE AMATEURS I5 

Nathaniel. No, no 

Douglass. Then listen. Give me the money I ask for 
and I will go — far away, never to return. To the world I 
will be as one dead. Come, Nathaniel, for your daughter's 
sake. 

Nathaniel {greatly perturbed^. No — no 

(Douglass ivaiks to the back of the stage and turns at the 
door.^ 

Douglass. You still refuse ? 

Nathaniel. 1 must. 

Douglass. Then, Nathaniel Mossborough, the world 
shall know that you are a church robber, that your daughter 
is the wife of the son of a tliief, a fugitive, a convict ! Re- 
venge shall be mine ! Upon your head shall be heaped the 
fires of shame and dishonor. Long have 1 waited for this 
hour, but now the flood-gates are opened to fan into flame 
the embers of anger that have these years slumbered in my 
heart. You scorn to lend a helping hand to me, an old 
friend. Very well. But wait ! {He turns to go.) 
' Nathaniel. Henry — Henry — you would not ruin me? 

Douglass. That 1 would. Twenty-five years ago you 
took the light out of my life. This night 1 hold the cards. 

Nathaniel. Henry — oh, Henry 

(Douglass is about to go when Rosalind /;/ the next room 
begins to sitig the ^^ Last Rose of Summer." He pauses 
attd listens.) 

Douglass (///V voice breaking). 'Tis her mother's voice. 
{Both 7tien listen, motionless. As she finishes Nathaniel 
breaks dotvn and sobs on the table. Douglass walks to 
him and touches him on the shoulder.) Nathaniel, forgive 
me. The sound of that voice stirs within me all the man- 
hood I have got left. There is no longer anger in my heart. . 
My threats die in my throat. Henry, — 1 mean Nathaniel 
— I mean — yes, Nathaniel — I am going far away. You 
will never see me again. My son thinks me dead. It is 
better so. {He goes to the door.) Her mother's voice ! 

{The words end in a tragic gulp as he staggers blindly off. 
Nathaniel ra/j-,?^- his head to find him gone. He strug- 
gles to his feet ^) 



l6 THE AMATEURS 



Nathaniel. Henry — Henry 



(^E liter Rosalind and Oliver. Oliver carries a copy of 
the play in which he is frantically looking for his cue. 
Suddenly conscious of what he is doing he passes the book 
to a /land which readies out to receive it.') 

Rosalind. Has your company gone, daddy? 
Nathaniel. Yes, my child, quite gone. 
Rosalind. Who was it? 
Nathaniel. Only an old friend, my dear. 
Rosalind. I'm glad he's gone. And may I ask Oliver 
to stay to dinner, daddy?' 

Nathaniel. If you want him, my dear. 
Rosalind {shyly). I — I do want him, papa. 

{They seek each other'' s hands.) . 

Oliver. She says she does. 

Nathaniel. Bless you, my children. And you promise 
me to be good to her, Oliver ? 
Oliver {fervently). 1 do ! 

{The men clasp hands.) 

Nathaniel. You will, I know. You are like your 
father. 

Oliver. You knew my father? 

Nathaniel. Years ago. He was a good man. 

(Jenkins enters l.. finds lie is in tiie wrong entrance, backs 
out anil reappears at tlie center door.) 

Jenkins. Dinner is served. 

{The orchestra strikes up the wedding march from " LoJieri- 
^riri " a7id Rosalind and Oliver march out followed by 
Nathaniel and Jenkins. The curtain falls.) 

{The curtain rises again for ilie encore. The members of 
the cast all reappear, line up and bo7v. The orchestra 
leader passes up a hunch of floivers. The actors look at 
each other to see who shall go for it. Nathaniel and 
Oliver start together, then each steps back to his place to 
allow the other to ^o. After a pause both start again. 
This time Oliver heats Nathaniel to the footliohts and 
accepts the floivers, smiling and lionnng to the audience.) 



THE AMATEURS 



17 



The Leader of the Orchestra. That ain't for you. 
Oliver (/// surprise). Huh ? 

The Leader. It's for her. {Points to Rosalind.) 
Oliver. Oh ! 

(^He gives the flowers to Rosalind, who smiles and bows 
graciously. The curtain falls. Nathaniel is left be- 
tween the curtain and the footlights, and tries frantically 
to find his way back.) 

Nathaniel. Hey ! Pull up that curtain ! 

{The curtain rises and Nathaniel disappears in the wings. 
The actors are not expecting another curtain call. Doug- 
lass is removing his wig. Scene-shifters are clearing 
the stage. Rosalind is congratulating Douglass.) 

Rosalind. Say, you were perfectly grand ! Oh, gee ! 

{They hurriedly line up and boiv as the curtain descends 
for the last time.) 



curtain 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

GRADUATION DAY AT "WOOD HILIi SCHOOIi. 

An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macauley. For six 
males and four females, with several minor parts. _ Time of 
playing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; 
may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com- 
bination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, 
etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercises 
include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions, 
and a comical speech by a country school trustee. Price, 15 
cents. 

EXAMINATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 
An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight male 
and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- 
cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
the teacher. Very easy and very effective. Price, 15 cents. 

BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played effectively with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in 
a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in 
Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 
Price, 15 cents. 

THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special 
scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all 
easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 
pion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
lesque modern politics and to work in local gags. Every 
part will make a hit. Price, 15 cents. 

SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female 
characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for 
specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
• to almost any place or occasion. Price, 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An En- 
tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the 
author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently 
graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs, 
conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises 
the surprisers. The entertainm.ent is a sure success. Price, 15 cents^ 

JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with 
supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the 
parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. Price, 15 cents. 

THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in One 
Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or 
may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so 
that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent 
of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men to run the 
machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous 
characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- 
ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. Price, 15 cents. 

THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 
Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. 
Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
any number of good parts. Price, 15 cents. 

THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
females and one male. The male part may be played by a 
female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or 
more. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery 
nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can 
easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. Price, 25 cents. 

BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 

Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males 
and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- 
ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations 
which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire 
fun from start to finish. Price, 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
by Mrs E J. H. Goodfellow. One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. _ Tmie in 
playing thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. Price, 15 cents. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
DUMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. Price, lo cents. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
Skinflint. Slie decides to "attain a commanding position 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. Price, Id 
cents. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior Costumes modern. 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it s tne 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her 
But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. Price, 15 cents. 

THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters^ ^'^on' of the 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice G-'^ham in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford fir t clam 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
an evening of rare enjoyment. Price 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



^__ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

The Power of ||1H^^^^^ 

Expression and efficiency go hand i lilllillillllilllllllliil'«^ 
rru . , 016 103 918 4 * 

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Successful public speaking 

Effective recitals 

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Social prominence 

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Are these things worth while? 

They are all successfully taught at The National School of 
Elocution and Oratory, which during many years has de- 
veloped this power in hundreds of men and women. 
A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these 
accomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request. 

THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF 
ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 

Parkway Building Philadelphia 



